Coffee Mornings
by ezmac
Summary: Small drabble for the Perv Pack's Smut Shack's Pervy Picspirations. Edward and Bella in the morning. M for semi-sexual situations and implied business. Not mine, blahblahblah.


**A/N: Wrote this for Emmy's Pervy Picspirations. First time doing it. Be gentle! I used the fifth picture; the second the last one, if that makes it any easier to remember. I hope it's good!**

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><p>My arms hurt.<p>

My legs hurt.

Christ, my hips are sore.

Not that I'm complaining. I thoroughly enjoyed getting to this sore state. It's just the whole actually being sore bit I'm not too fond of.

Jesus, I need coffee.

I slowly inch off the bed, taking care not to groan out loud due to the tenseness of my muscles…_mmm_…and root around in all the clothes strewn about the room for Edward's shirt. _Where the fuck did it go? Where exactly did we throw it?_

I make my way out of the bedroom stark naked, still looking for Edward's shirt. I find it hanging on a wall lamp in the hallway. _Oops. Guess we weren't as careful as I thought…Oh well. Totally worth it._

After I slip Edward's t-shirt on, I shuffle to the kitchen and make some coffee. I measure out the appropriate amount of the fancy Columbian blend my sister Alice gave us before hitting the button and letting the glorious caffeinated Jesus juice start dripping into the coffee pot.

My muscles stretch and pop as I get the sugar and creamer out of the pantry and fridge as the coffee finishes. The mugs Edward and I use every morning are sitting in the strainer, and I grab them both and swiftly place them in front of the coffeemaker. I measure out the one spoonful of sugar Edward likes and the three spoonfuls that I like before pouring the steaming drink into each mug ("I like big books and I cannot lie" for me; sock monkey faces for Edward). The creamer goes in last, and since coffee still tastes a bit bitter to me, I pour enough creamer to nearly overflow my mug before dropping a couple small splashes of creamer into Edward's mug.

I stir both carefully before shuffling back down the hall and into the bedroom.

I nearly spill both coffees due to the sight I'm greeted with once I arrive back into the room.

Edward has his magnificent, glorious, completely bite-worthy ass in the air, his arms shoved under the pillows, and his face smooshed into the dip between the two pillows.

God, his ass is amazing.

I'm surprised there aren't impressions of my nails in it from last night.

God knows I was gripping it hard enough while I was trying to get him to shove his cock into me harder last night.

And boy, did he comply. I think I'm going to be sore for a week.

Once again, though: totally worth it.

I shake myself out of my dirty thoughts and set the mugs down on the side table before crawling over him and straddling his lower back. I run my hands down his back slowly, trailing kisses down his spine, hoping he'll wake up.

My attentions are rewarded when he grunts and shifts a little. I rise up a bit to let him stretch before kissing behind his ear, a spot I know never fails to get him worked up. I give it a small flick of my tongue too, just to make sure it works.

He begins to turn his head, so I move off his back and return to my spot on the left side of the bed. His arm slips out from under the pillows and reaches for me, coming into contact to my shirt-clad stomach, and he makes a sound of displeasure.

"Why are you not naked?" His voice is thick and heavy with sleep. I also detect a bit of lust in it, but not enough.

"I was getting coffee. You like coffee, remember?"

"I do like coffee, but I fail to see how you getting coffee causes you to be being dressed. So once again, I ask: Why are you not naked?"

"I'm naked where it counts, babe. Don't you worry about that," with this comment, I slip my hand over his and guide it down my stomach to my very upper thigh, letting him draw his own conclusions. Thankfully, he's not dumb, so he slips his long, _very_ talented fingers right where I want them. _Ohhh, yeah. Right there, baby. Keep going…_

God I love this man.

We are quickly distracted away from the coffee, which goes deathly cold long before we're done, mostly because his fingers are amazing, in both playing piano _and_ me, but also because when he first raised his head, he looked all rugged and ruffled and entirely delicious.

Well that, and he spread me open and started lapping at me like a cat at a milk dish. Ooh.

Did I mention I love this man?

Because I do.


End file.
